Grief and Recovery

 Haven't touched the computer to write in about two weeks and my head is about to explode with thoughts and ideas.

My better entries seem to occur when it seems I initially have very little going on in my mind, just the opposite of what I'm feeling tonight. Oh well, I'll just hit the keys and see what happens. My father was buried two days ago. The whole illness death experience was one of the most difficult things I've experienced in my life. I am glad his suffering is over but it will be hard readjusting to life without his presence. It didn't really hit me hard until the actual funeral procession began. I've always had a phobia of funerals and unconsciously searched for ways to avoid them, whenever possible. One of the worst panic attacks of my life occurred at a funeral when I was a teen. I've learned much about grief since that time. Anxiety was not a problem with the loss of my father. I worry about my mother but sadness and a sense of loss has been what I have felt mostly. I take comfort in knowing my father lived a long life and meant a lot to many people. The symbolism provided by the Navy's contribution of playing Taps and the release of the white doves, and the Masonic presence and ritual I found to be comforting and represented a side of my father's life that I barely knew existed.

Death seems to become increasingly more intriguing to me in many ways. Mostly the spiritual aspect since this presents a challenge for most with a strong science related background. My nature has always been most consistent with that of a Doubting Thomas. I want to see the wounds. The more I work with grieving and dying patients and experience my own grief the more convinced I feel that God does truly exist and has loving concern for us. I never dismiss as coincidence the dreams, visions, and other signs people share with me when going through an experience. After the nurse called about worsening in my father's condition I drove to see him for what I knew would be the last time. He was not conscious and was having convulsions of his arms and upper body. All I could think to do was to pray silently, asking God to comfort him. When I opened my eyes, to my surprise, he calmed momentarily. I later learned that his dog Mack, 13 miles away, whined all that night. I can dismiss the insomnia felt by myself and others close to my father as logical and not too hard to explain but I find Mack's premonition and the power of prayer difficult to dismiss as simple coincidence. After receiving confirmation of his passing via phone from my mother early the next morning my cat Oreo snuggled tightly up against me as if she wanted to comfort me. Coincidence? Maybe? Maybe not.

I never wrote my piece mentioned in a previous posting about "Three Old Men" and how they chose to face their imminent deaths. Within the past 9 months 3 uncles, a close friend/cousin, and my father have passed. The least I can do is to pay tribute by mentioning their names. Last December, Uncle J.C. debilitated by a major stroke and in his late 80's was surprised by death while engaging in an activity most of us take for granted, chewing and swallowing his lunch. Later the following Spring, Cousin Raymond, in his mid 60's lost his battle with alcoholism and slipped into a coma never to awaken. No one really believed it would ever really happen. Several weeks later, Uncle Milt, in his mid to late 80's, refused any more chemo for his lung cancer. He went to his closet and picked out the suit and shoes he wished to be buried in. He retired to bed awaiting the death angel who met him a couple of weeks later. He went on to join Aunt Elouise in Glory. In June, Uncle Van, age 78, cursed at the doctors angrily refusing any treatment for his esophageal cancer. He remembered the slow and painful death Aunt Edna, his wife, experienced from breast cancer and chemotherapy. He soon died suddenly and surprisingly of non cancer related causes. I think he felt a sense of victory because it wasn't the cancer that killed him. My father was diagnosed with cancer over two years ago. He had some radiation to shrink the tumor some but his doctors didn't recommend aggressive treatment due to his advanced age. Anyone else would probably have lived a few months more and given up the ghost. Not my dad. He chose to fight that cancer with sheer stubbornness and defiance til the bitter end. And that he did. When I went to his last VA appointment with him, his arterial blood gases on room air were better than mine despite a softball sized tumor in one lung. His cancer even metastasized to his skin, causing a large growth on his forehead. I suspect he had those tumors all over his body. Over the last year of life I watched him go from a walking cane to a walker to a wheelchair to a hospital bed to a diaper and drop from 180 lbs to 80 lbs. Still he never quit fighting. His body just finally gave completely out. I'm glad he has some peace despite the fact he'll be missed. The slow dying process gave me a chance to verbally tell him I loved him for the first time. That represents growth for me and I am thankful.

I thought it would be interesting to review how my loved ones faced their deaths since we all must make the same choice sooner or later. Somehow, I seem to think Uncle Milt had it right. I don't know if I could find the serenity to accept death so gracefully. I'm hoping that there isn't a need to write about sad topics again for a while but I understand that what the future holds is out of my control. I also know that love and time heals all wounds.

spirituality and mental health

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